Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

fine feeling of lots of space. Don’t you feel it too?’
    ‘Yes, Mademoiselle, but—’
    ‘Now we’re going back to the veranda. I’ll tell you how. Look at the wall, then turn your feet. First the right foot, then the left.’
    ‘I do not . . . cannot . . .’
    ‘Look at the wall. Let your feet take care of themselves. Are you ready?’
    ‘Mademoiselle.’
    ‘Now. Right foot . . . left foot.’
    And Albertine turned. Quite easily. She faced the veranda, her eyes rolling. She stood, mouth open, fingers clutching, waiting to hear the next instruction.
    ‘Don’t press with your hands, Albertine. Don’t try to look at your feet. Look at Monsieur George on the veranda. Now shuffle along till you reach him.’
    Albertine shuffled. In strict obedience she kept her eyes firmly on Gently, and though he wanted to glance over her shoulder at Brenda Merryn he dared not lose that fixed glare. She came on steadily. Her wild expression had a ghastly abstraction in it. She no longer trembled but seemed to function mechanically with her terrified mind at a distance.
    ‘Say something to Albertine, George,’ Brenda Merryn said.
    ‘Albertine,’ Gently said. ‘We could all use a cup of coffee.’
    ‘I know I could,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘A cup of strong French coffee, Albertine. The way you make it, hot and strong. I’m longing for a cup of your coffee.’
    ‘Is she good at coffee,’ Gently said.
    ‘You bet she is,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘If you haven’t tasted Albertine’s coffee you don’t know what coffee tastes like yet.’
    ‘I’m looking forward to it Albertine,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve a sudden thirst for some good coffee.’
    ‘She makes the best coffee in Chelsea,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘And she’ll rustle it up for you in five minutes.’
    Albertine’s face made a frantic smile to which the eyes did not contribute. Her head was tilting further and further back as though in an effort to prevent her eyes slipping downwards. The gap decreased. It was just at the end she nearly came to disaster. She reached for Gently’s hand too soon, missed it and rocked for a second, fingers weaving.
    ‘There,’ Brenda Merryn said, ‘there. You two will never be sweethearts.’
    And Albertine made the last step and was hauled over the iron railings of the veranda.
    She collapsed in the arms of a policewoman and was half-led, half-carried inside. Below, the silence of the crowd erupted strangely into a gust of roaring, clapping and cheering. Brenda Merryn remained short of the veranda. Her hazel eyes faced Gently’s. She deliberately looked down at the scene beneath her, waved to the crowd, then looked back at Gently.
    ‘So you do have a head for it,’ Gently said.
    Brenda Merryn’s chin lifted and she made a rude noise.
    ‘It’s a useful gift.’
    ‘Go to hell, George. And stand back from that railing. Or I’ll go down the short way.’
    She swung herself into the veranda and prepared to stride past him. He caught her wrist.
    ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘If you go down there the press’ll murder you. And I want you here.’
    ‘You want me,’ she said. ‘That makes a change at all events. So I’d better stay.’
    She snatched her wrist away and marched through the french windows.
    Reynolds touched Gently’s elbow. ‘Chief, I’m in a daze,’ he said. ‘Ten minutes ago I’d have pinched Merryn. Now I’m foxed again. Give me a lead.’
    Gently hunched. ‘You can pick up Fazakerly for a start.’
    ‘Fazakerly?’
    ‘Have him brought here. And Sarah Johnson, when she arrives. I want them all. We’re going upstairs. We’re going to do some hard talking. We’re going to show Sarah Johnson to Mrs Bannister. We’re going to beat their heads together.’
    ‘You think they’ll unclam?’
    ‘I think maybe. Something should come out in the wash.’
    ‘Right Chief. I’ll fix it.’
    ‘And something else.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘That coffee.’

 
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    T HE COFFEE WAS drunk and it was coffee which Albertine had insisted on making. She was surprising. Apparently a state of shock was no impediment to her. After sobbing and shaking and moaning and rather comically upbraiding Brenda Merryn she remembered the coffee and, without reference to Madame, went trembling to the kitchen to brew it. It was excellent, if not entirely the best coffee in Chelsea. Madame accepted a cup and drank it silently beside the Chippendale bureau-bookcase. Madame was saying very little. She watched